


Machination

by philomel



Category: Firefly
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-13
Updated: 2011-11-13
Packaged: 2017-10-26 00:46:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/276697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/philomel/pseuds/philomel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If she couldn’t figure out people, couldn’t know ‘em like her engine, then she could learn ‘em.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Machination

She figured they had as much in common as anybody. Maybe more. They both knew about fixin’ things, how to keep things runnin.’ It’s just that she took care of engines and he worked on people, instead.

People. She was still a novice there, lots of learning left. Machines, they made real sense, told you what you wanted to know in a simple language. ‘Course everyone else thought it indecipherable. They just wasn’t listening, is all.

Could be she ought to listen better to people too.

That’s probably why the doctor had his place, same as she had hers. If she thought about it, the body was really like a wet, pink engine. So, that she had her metal one and he had his people-made one, well, that was of little consequence, wasn’t it? Made naught difference. You still had your generator, which was as much like a heart as anything, keepin’ it all going. And distributors kept the fuel running through — call it blood, call it gasoline, it was still fuel. Well, the whole thing’s just a bunch of chambers. Basic muscular system, if she remembered her schooling, bones and such, all like to gears and pistons and pins and bearings and crankshafts. Oh, levers was obvious. And carburetors: lungs, she guessed. Perhaps. Fine, she didn’t know where those fit in exactly. So maybe people and engines weren’t like each other at all. But she sure wished they were — would make a hell of a lot more sense.

No, she couldn’t figure this out at all. Still, the time he fixed her up was pretty much the best thing that ever happened to her. Scratch that. The best thing — so far, she had to notate — was when he’d come running down to the infirmary all frantic-like. She’d remembered his panting, froze it to her memory. Jayne’d told her about the joke later, fitting the puzzle pieces in place, so now she knew why the doc’d been there, then been gone so quick. She chastised him, Mal, for that, captain or not. It was cruel. But she thanked him afterward, when he was too far to hear. Because then she knew that he, that the doc, that Simon.... Well, least he didn’t want her to die.

Yep, she was an optimistic girl and she saw there was space for things to get better. Closer to understanding. She thrived on challenge, she knew certain she did. If she couldn’t figure out people, couldn’t know ‘em like her engine, then she could learn ‘em. Learn him. ‘Cause possibly he and her were the same. Enough. Pretty much the same, only with different platings and a different name each. Like the 80-10 and the 80-04. But plenty better.

When Kaylee was back at home, still a small thing, she learned mechanisms by taking them apart. That always taught her everything she needed to know. And though she hadn’t taken Serenity apart, she knew it inside and out, and that was just as good. Point was, she knew its makings. But sometimes you have to go back to basics, she thought. Same would work here. In theory. Just had to be proved.

It would have to be the engine room, where she could trust the light. She’d take him there, out of his cold blue room into hers, where no one could hear. He’d fixed her in his place, so he was due. But she’d have to still him, brace him so he wouldn’t go flying off like a loose coupling. If she could bring him to his knees, she could steady him, thread through his hair and hold him tight. Though she may be a girl, she had grip, and her strength was a force to be reckoned with. But once he was there, not going, once she was sure, she could loosen her hold. Her hands would frame his scalp, feel the heat of him, the burn of his skin, less hot than heated metal but still enough to leave lines and curves to mark him onto her. She would feel the stop and start of his heart pump against the heels of her palms. She wondered if it would match the churn of the ship. If she could tell, that was, if the noise of her own pulse didn’t drown the engine out.

And when she was ready, she would begin with his mouth and push her fingers into him. Trace him until she was wet and smudged. Pull him apart piece by piece.


End file.
